


Far to Go

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5486804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gapfiller following 4.16 "On The Head of a Pin." </p><p>Castiel mulls over Dean Winchester and human emotion as he begins to have his own emotions for the first time. Joy. Guilt. Jealousy. And something that churns inside him and leaves him wishing he'd never begun to feel at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far to Go

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up, I've been writing fic for a long time, but this is my first venture into the SPN fanfic community. So... hi!!
> 
> About the title, and the fic: It was supposed to be Destiel smut. Instead it's an angsty introspective on Castiel's past, and his present and future as he begins to have ALL THE FEELS. The title is pulled from the poem "Monday's Child": Castiel, in biblical lore, is the Angel of Thursday. Thursday's child has far to go.
> 
> Monday's child is fair of face,  
> Tuesday's child is full of grace,  
> Wednesday's child is full of woe,  
> Thursday's child has far to go,  
> Friday's child is loving and giving,  
> Saturday's child works hard for a living,  
> But the child who is born on the Sabbath day  
> Is fair and wise and good in every way

_Dean Winchester is broken._

That’s it. That’s his report after it all goes down, and it doesn’t bode well for Castiel. He can reason it all away, but in the end, he is still failing in his mission. The vessel of Heaven, Dean Winchester, agreed against his own better judgement to torture the demon Alistair for information regarding the deaths of their brethren. Uriel, Light of God, broke the Devil’s Trap and subsequently Alistair became free of his bonds, beating Dean within an inch of his life.

But not before letting slip the entire secret Castiel has been trying so hard to protect. Not before telling Dean that he’d broken the first seal.

In hopes to fix some part of the mess, Castiel had shown Dean the flip side of the coin - or as much of it as he’s able - that Dean is meant to stop the pending apocalypse.

Dean had respectfully declined the offer. _Find someone else_.

Castiel had tried and failed to defend Dean against the demon. Sam Winchester had ultimately put an end to Alistair - Castiel is careful to leave out the specifics.

Uriel, too, is dead, by Castiel’s own hand, for crimes of blasphemy against God’s creation and in self defense. And this isn’t true, of course, not at all - it was Anna, but if he wrote that, if Heaven knew he was corroborating with _Anna_ , then he would find himself with more than just a slap on the wrist for a failed mission. So he lied. It was his first lie. It didn’t feel good.

It felt… Human.

Castiel has to remind himself yet again that humans have _emotions_ and - what had Michael called them? - _intangible desires_ that make it nearly impossible for them to think logically 100 percent of the time.

And Dean Winchester, vessel of Heaven, is no different from the rest of them. Right now, he doesn’t need Castiel or God or Michael. Right now his mind and body are broken, and he needs his brother more than anyone else.

Even if that brother is an abomination unto the Lord.

He doesn’t know how the report will be received. He doesn’t know when - _if_ \- he’ll be called back to Heaven to give an account in person. He only knows that everything about today has been awful, and the most awful part is, he wouldn’t do a single thing differently if he had it to do all over again.

He sighs, taking his head in his hands… he’s pretty sure he’s getting his first headache.

This - Castiel assuming a vessel, going to Earth, being a guide to Dean - this was never the Plan. Heaven is improvising now, for the first time in millenia.

Michael was supposed to have been the one to raise Dean Winchester. _That_ was the Plan. Michael would raise him, befriend and guide him - ideally in the true angelic form, but now Castiel wonders if that would have worked any better for Michael than it had for him - and, ultimately, take Dean as his vessel with Dean’s (hopefully enthusiastic) permission.

But Michael had failed.

Burned into Castiel’s memory is the image of the archangel as he stood before his garrison - battle-weary, beaten, and in his eyes, a desperation Castiel had never seen before in Heaven.

_"Brothers and sisters, it is with a heavy heart that I stand before you this day. My attempts to raise the vessel from Perdition… have failed.”_

The other archangels had each made attempts - Raphael, even Gabriel. Both had failed - recognized by Lucifer's army and battled back long before reaching the place where the Devil had hidden Dean away. So then it had gone down the line - Uriel. That hadn’t gone well, either.

Castiel had been a last resort. Thursday’s Child, a front-line leader of footsoldiers, a nobody, called from the back-left corner of the infinite room, in hopes that he would be strong and yet nobody _enough_ to pass through the layers of fire and brimstone undetected.

And it had worked.

So… now they’re improvising. Heaven isn't accustomed to a lack of a plan; there hasn't been this much tension in their ranks since The Fall of Man.

Michael had thrown the progress of the Winchester Gospel at Castiel - _“Educate yourself,”  -_ and given him a crash course in humanity before pushing him down to Earth with parting words - _“Find yourself a vessel - any willing vessel, Castiel, it doesn't matter - and then find mine. And Castiel? Do not screw this up.”_

So here he is.

Screwing it up.

Already.

Dean hates him, to begin with, and has rejected the idea that he’s the one true vessel, the only person who can stop the Apocalypse.

Castiel’s failure to bond with Dean on any level had in turn raised doubts in the garrison, particularly from Castiel's superiors. Particularly from Raphael and Michael.

They were pressing him - _more, faster, Castiel. Now is not the time for timidity! -_ but the more they postured, the more Castiel doubted _them._

Dean is human, and Castiel isn’t certain they know what that means. Dean is a _remarkable_ human, with unmatched experiences on multiple planes of existence, but a human nonetheless.

He’d pushed Dean as instructed - crawled under his skin, tapped a weak psychic link, poked around in his subconscious, and found three dominant schools: love, fear, and confusion. That’s mostly it - as if Dean takes everything and everyone in his life and shoves it into one of those three mental compartments, and responds based on how each is filed. Right now Dean’s files are… misguided. Heaven would say that, definitely, because he has Sam filed squarely under _Love_.

_“Humans have intangibles - they thrive on these, sometimes beyond logic. Love. Fear. Safety. Hatred. Need.”_

_“Need?”_

_“For one another.”_

_“For what purpose?”_

_“For NO purpose, Castiel, but to FEEL. This is their greatest weakness.”_

Michael’s words hadn't made any sense before, but they do now. Now that he’s been around human emotion… now that he’s begun to develop them for himself.

Dean, in his brief experience, has filed angels under Confusion, and slightly under Fear. Definitely nothing resembling Love at all. And yet, Dean had given him a nickname. A _nickname_ \- a shortened version of a full name, usually given because of a strong emotional connection - either positive or negative.

And it doesn’t seem like a great weakness at all. If anything, it makes Castiel - _Cas_ \- feel closer to Dean Winchester.

And that… makes Cas smile.

And so they are here. Uriel had come down to… oversee… and all he had reported was Castiel’s sub-par performance and perhaps an over-attachment not just to Dean, but to all of humanity. A… what had he said?... _failure to see the bigger picture_. And Castiel had reached out to Dean without thought, in an attempt to comfort.

Then everything had fallen apart. Dean had pulled back. Not just a little - he’d pulled back like he’d been burned.

Full of piss and vinegar and sass and disobedience…

And fragile as a single pane of glass.

Not so dissimilar from Michael, he muses.

Except… he is. Dissimilar, and better, even. Because he has those… _intangibles_ beneath him.

Everything about Hell is filed under Fear in Dean’s mind. Fear, tagged with lots of other emotions - self-hatred, self-depreciation, worthlessness, pain… everything Castiel would expect.

Castiel had saved Dean from all of that, but not soon enough, and that… hurt. Like emotion. _Pathways to doubt_. Maybe the garrison is right.

And all of that had brought them here. To this.

Cas shakes his head. He won’t run from this conversation, because he doesn’t know what’s waiting for him next time he’s called home. It’s possible this is the last time he’ll see Dean - possibly the last time he’ll get the chance to… _feel_ … unless he chooses to give up his grace and fall to Earth, like Anna did. And he can’t do that, not ever. He’d be of no use to Dean as a human. He’s barely of use to him as it is.

“Dammit, Cas. Is it so much to ask that you, I don't know, _knock first_ or something?” Dean is naked. Castiel recalls the human need for modesty and looks away as his charge quickly moves about his hotel room in search of clothing.

“I am sorry. I shouldn’t even be here now, except…” He looks at the hotel room floor, considering his next words carefully. He’s choosing sides in a battle that hasn’t been officially declared, a battle that was never meant to be - Heaven versus humanity. And he’s pretty sure his superiors will be displeased with where he places his loyalties. “I know that what you did to Alistair was difficult for you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Dean -”

“I SAID I DON’T -”

“I know that the trust you placed in me was substantial. That you did what you did because _I_ asked you to.” Dean’s only response is a sniff and a shrug of his shoulders as he shuffles into a pair of well-worn jeans.

“You’re no different from the rest of them, you know. Angels. Big stinkin’ bag of dicks.”

“You’ve mentioned… that… on occasion.” He can’t hold back a smile. That’s that thing again, that emotion. This one feels different, though. Warm, fuzzy on the inside. Something he can’t quite pinpoint. “You may find this difficult to accept, but I am truly sorry for what happened. All of it. I should never have asked you to interrogate the demon. Even so, he should never have gotten free. I…”

“Leave me alone, Cas, all right? I did what you asked. Put in a solid day at the office, bounced back no worse for the wear, and now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do.”

“What things?” He’s genuinely curious, and his tone seems to convey that, because Dean’s eyebrows raise in genuine surprise.

“Sleep, if I can manage it. Beer, if I can’t, and if I’m real lucky, maybe a beautiful woman to help me forget my troubles. Excuse me.” They’re in a cramped hotel room as usual, and Dean brushes his shoulder against Castiel’s on his wayl to grab a stray shirt off his bed. He sniffs it, then throws it in the general direction of a dark blue duffle in the opposite corner. It lands a foot short; Dean huffs about, pretending not to notice.

A woman. This is something else Castiel has trouble with - gender. Human gender and sexuality are still mostly a mystery to him. He’s observed Dean lusting after women with certain attributes and proportions, but it makes very little sense to him why those things would matter at all unless he was looking to reproduce. Certainly in that case he’d want to find someone with suitable genes--

“Do you intend to mate with her?”

The look Dean gives him that is the incredulous face he usually reserves for particular oddities. Like when Sam forgets his pie. “Excuse me?”

“Mate. Reproduce. Are you looking for a female to bear your children?”

And then he’s shaking his head, eyes closed, but the eyebrows are way up in his hair so Castiel is pretty sure Dean’s eyes are still raised to heaven behind the closed lids. “Jesus Christ, Cas. You really are something, you know that? No, I don’t intend to _mate_ with her.”

“Then… why…”

“Sometimes sex just feels good, OK? Jesus.” Heaven is greatly displeased with Dean’s vulgar language, but Castiel has come to realize that this is likely the least of their concerns regarding the vessel, so he’d resolved to let it go. “You know--” he opens his eyes then, and looks Castiel up and down as he leans to pick the stray shirt off the floor and put it more adjacent to the duffle. “You really don’t, do you?” He asks, softening as he slowly straightens to his full height and comes back toward Castiel. This is perhaps the least combative the angel had ever seen Dean Winchester. It’s… nice. That warm fuzzy feeling in his gut, that _emotion_ , stirs again, and seems to set down roots in his vessel’s abdomen. “You’ve never… you have no idea.”

“It’s just a mating dance,” Castiel replies with a tiny shrug and a slight widening of his eyes. “Your species reproduces sexually. I understand the basics of it. For angels, though… there’s no need.” He feels something else, just a tinge, alongside the warmness - a sourness that gnaws at his insides.

“Oh, Cas. It’s… it’s more than that. It’s…” Dean’s shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, and then he gets a faraway look in his eyes. “All right, listen. Don’t you dare tell Sammy I told you this, all right? But it’s about forgetting. For me, that’s it. This life, being a hunter, it sucked even before you angels started messing with my head. I need to cope. I need to forget. I need to not be any of that bullshit every now and then. So. I go out. I flirt. And I’m just me. For just a little while, I let my guard down. And you know, those times, when I have a really good rumble between the sheets, Cas… afterward, that’s the only time in my life when I’m ever completely relaxed. So. That’s what sex is for me.”

“A release.” It makes sense. The gnawing feeling in Castiel’s gut is only getting worse, growing like a monster inside his host’s body. His head is pounding now. “Of… emotions.”

“Yeah, I guess. Sure.”

“And this is something you need right now.”

“More than just about anything else on this godforsaken planet.” Dean’s eyes are wide and wet with tears now, but they’re open and honest. This is a real conversation, about real things that really matter to Dean.

“I think this is something I need, too.”

Everything in the room goes still, as still and silent as an unbroken pond, no ripples, just water and sky, each reflecting the other. Waiting. Castiel parts his lips slightly.

The gnawing in his abdomen has spread to his chest and sent his vessel’s heart into a pounding rhythm Castiel has only experienced thus far in times of strenuous physical activity. He’s buzzing, that’s what it feels like - _buzzing_.  

Dean parts his lips too, and his eyes stay locked with Cas’s. For a very long second, he’s sure Dean is going to --

“All right. Let’s go get a beer. Score some chicks. You might wanna keep that whole ‘Angel of the Lord’ thing on the DL, though. Virginity, too, if you can manage it. Let’s ride.” He pats Castiel’s shoulder hard and walks quickly past him to the door. Cas doesn’t turn around; he hears the door open and then slam shut behind Dean.

_“Humans have intangibles - they thrive on these, sometimes beyond logic. Love. Fear. Safety. Hatred. Need.”_

_“Need?”_

_“For one another.”_

The new feeling that hits him then… so this is NEED. And it doesn’t creep up. It slams into his chest, hard and painful as though he’s been hit with a closed fist. Emotion. No, he’s not sure he cares for emotion at all. But it curls up inside his chest, making itself at home there before fading to a dull, continuous ache.

“Cas, come on! Time’s a-wastin’!”

“Right.” He pushes it down as best he’s able and turns toward where Dean is leaning into the room through the open door and manages a tight-lipped smile as he follows Dean to his car.

 _They fear I’m getting too close to the humans in my charge. To… you_.

God help him if they ever find out just how right they are.


End file.
